France's Friends
by SL0B
Summary: Francis' loves his two best friends, whether they be making him groan, scream or even cry. BTT, no pairings, one-shot. Warning for alcohol use, foul language and vomit mentioning.


"How much did you drink?" a man's smooth, incredulous voice spun into the chilled night-time air. The blond haired, blue eyed Frenchman looked at the watch on his wrist and saw that it was 11:23pm. He was not that intoxicated, he surely wasn't, but it took a few seconds for his eyes to focus on the small numbers, and he absolutely refused to drive, despite it being around 14°C outside and it having rained earlier.

"Not _that_ much," a louder, more brazen voice rang out. "Well, more than... usual, maybe, but not really." As he said this he sipped something in his gloved hand (that was _surely_ alcohol) from a dingey can.

The very pale, red-nosed Prussian man beside him—Gilbert, was his real name—was stumbling, moving erratically and leaning against him ever-so slightly. To the youthful-looking, beautiful Frenchman, Francis, he was quite obviously wasted.

Which was surprising. They both could handle _quite_ a bit of alcohol, which was a sweeping understatement. Francis thought he had been keeping a watchful eye on his friend, whom had been seeming a bit down lately, but apparently not. Not that he himself had been feeling any better, recently.

But he still thought he could keep a better eye on his friend than _that_.

...He blamed the pretty bartender. Thinking about this particular pretty bartender, he found himself staring foward, lost in thought for a moment. Then the movement of his friend lifting his hand to his mouth brought him back to reality again.

"You're going to ruin your liver," Francis said. Gilbert snorted ungraciously. Frances then stopped, grabbed the can and tossed it across the street, where it noisily landed beside a few trashcans, ignoring Gilbert's "_Was_?" and "What the _hell_!"

"You fucking—you—litterer! _Litterer_!" Gilbert whined, his voice dissolving into a low screech, but Francis knew he wasn't really angry. Pissy, maybe, but his friend tended to throw punches first and ask questions later when truly enraged.

"Please forgive me, my dear friend," Francis murmured as they continued walking, smiling languidly and patting his old friend's cold, rose-fingered hand.

Gilbert eyed him coldly. After a few long moments of silence he suddenly sniffed deeply, clearing his mucous-ridden throat and wetly spitting something out on the pavement in a way that made Francis look away and gag. Then he grimaced as the other personification grinned roguishly at him. Gilbert knew damn well what made Francis uncomfortable.

"Ahh, sweet revenge."

"_Merde_, will you ever be quiet?" Francis muttered.

"I'll chuck you like you chucked that beer, Francy Pants."

Then he suddenly stopped and seemed surprised as he started feeling around his heavy jacket's pockets, reached deep into one of the concaves and pulled out—a fresh beer can. He looked at it before bursting into harsh laughter as Francis put his face into his hands and moaned.

"Wh—whoa!"

"_How_ many of those do you have?"

Gilbert felt around in his pockets more, concentrating and seemingly counting. "Around f... four. Fo—" He then eyed Francis warily and growled, "_You're_ not getting near any."

Francis' eyebrow twitched and he sniffed. They still had quite a way to walk. "Mhm."

* * *

"You're my best friend, Fruh... F... Fra... F-F—"

"Please stop talking, _Mon cher_," Francis said softly, though more than a tad bit irritably. With no bad will to his stuttering, inebriated friend who was now leaning heavily on and occasionally tripping him, Gilbert's breath really did stink. However, after a guilty, quiet moment he did add, "...And you are my best friend, as well. As is Antonio."

Gilbert made a noise that sounded like something between a rambunctious cheer and a guffaw, and threw his fist into the cold night air above his head. "That's right, that's right! Toni too! The gang's all _here_!"

Then he really did start laughing in that silly, audacious way he had, and then he suddenly leaned ahead, causing Francis to let out a small shriek of surprise and ungracefully tumble foward, grasping his arms around the other man's chest, catching Gilbert only at the last moment.

"You idiot!" Francis breathed through clamped teeth, wide-eyed and brow furrowed. "_What_ are you doing? Sit up!"

"I'm flyin'!"

Francis groaned.

Gilbert turned his head a little and blinked, staring intently at nothing. For a moment Francis thought he was going to be ill and frowned heavily, eyebrows springing upwards in alarm.

"...M' legs are," Gilbert made a shaky, vague motion with his hand that could have meant anything. However, Francis realized he could feel the legs in question quavering against his own. His red-faced friend was awkwardly slightly bent over with his hands clamped on Francis', as if it was hard to stand.

"...Shaky?" The blond inquired, studying him.

Gilbert seemed to be having trouble with English and was repeatedly slipping back into his native tongue, a problem Francis himself sometimes had when angry, tired or very drunk.

"..._Pudding_."

"...They... feel like jelly?"

"_Ja_, _ja_."

"Hm." _He__'s drank more than I realized. _

He then steeled himself and nodded, tightening his grip around the white-haired man. "Alright."

With a grunt, Francis used his own weight to somewhat lift and move Gilbert back beside him, leaning him against his side and holding an arm tightly around his waist. Gilbert fumblingly worked his arm back around Francis' shoulders by himself, which the Frenchman was thankful for as he tried to catch his breath a bit.

"Sometimes I forget how heavy you are, _mo__n gros_," Francis said laboriously as he began the harsh task of walking foward. Their wet, padded foot-steps and quiet breathing were their only accompaniment on the moist, dimly lit side-walk. "You tend to look rather scrawny, but no, you have a lot of muscles, don't you? You're about as tall as me and weigh about the same, but sometimes I forget."

"Shut the hell up."

Francis chuckled. He knew his friend well. "Did you even hear all of that, or just me calling you 'scrawny'?"

"Shaddup. M' not scrawny, _yer_ scrawny."

"We're the _same_ size—"

You fuckin' _wish_, pretty boy!" Gilbert suddenly shouted so loudly that it echoed off the black, moonlit sky, making Francis visibly wince.

Then the _Français_ sighed through his nose crisply as his friend became quieter, mumbling to himself and becoming increasingly agitated at inane things. He muttered something along the lines of, "You're damn right, I'm pretty," which sent Gilbert into another tangent of harsh, passive-aggressive mumblings, which Francis promptly ignored.

* * *

"_We're back_!" Francis cried as he shambled through the apartment door, him and the semiconscious man latched onto him falling to the carpet, panting. His slim legs were on fire and his feet fell like they were going to fall off at any moment. The feeling in his face had left long ago. "Oh my _god_!"

As soon as the door slammed open the Spanish man sleeping on the couch had jumped up and took a defensive stance, adrenaline rushing through his veins in his half-awoken, groggy state. "_Fight_ _me_!"

"Damn it, Antonio," Gilbert muttered, face down on the floor. He felt like he was probably going to vomit within the next few minutes, but he couldn't barely think let alone move.

"It's us, Toni," Francis said breathlessly, on all fours, then muttering, "So that's why he wouldn't open the door..." After calling for Antonio and much knocking, it had taken Francis a good ten minutes to open the door with his numb, shaky hand and those damn tiny keys.

"Oh..." Antonio slowly let down his guard with half-lidded eyes, fell back on the couch and promptly layed down again. "_Hola_, _buenas noches_."

"Whatever," Francis muttered curtly, not in the best of moods. Antonio wasn't of any real help when he was tired, anyway. And even if he was fully awake he would probably just smile oh-so cheerfully and say something like, "_Well, that's what you get for going to a bar across town for no good reason, haha_!" Francis thought. He wouldn't even say that with malice, that was just the truth. Toni was smart enough to stay behind on their little misadventure, _this_ time.

As if reading his mind, Gilbert groaned out throatily, "That was a horrible 'adventure'. I'm never doing that again. I'm dying."

Antonio mumbled from the couch, "Well, yeah—"

"God _damn_ it shut the _fuck_ up, Antonio." Gilbert growled bitterly while clutching his stomach. He turned his face back to Francis. "Let's never do that again."

The Frenchman glared sullenly at Gilbert. "It was your idea."

The German blinked and then weakly dismissed that with a wave of his hand. "Forget and forget."

"Do you mean _forgive_ and _forge_—"

"Oh _god_ my _stomach_," Gilbert suddenly moaned, reaching foward towards the couch with his hand and his face contorted in pain. He whined like an injured dog.

Francis put his face in his hands and leaned foward on his knees until his hands touched the floor. _What are my sins?_

* * *

At around three in the morning Francis was resting in the living area, watching television on the couch with a quilt, and Gilbert was brushing his teeth in the bathroom after laying down on the floor and puking in the toilet for a while. Francis had dragged Toni off to the bedroom long ago.

Gilbert walked into the living area with a bit of toothpaste still around his mouth, stating rather noisily, "I always feel better after a good, awesome barf."

Francis looked at him for a moment, looked back toward the TV and then shushed him, motioning towards the general direction of the bedroom. Gilbert shrugged, smirked and sat down on Francis' covered legs.

"Oh, you _bastar_—!" Francis hissed loudly before Gilbert put his finger to his own lips and shushed him excitedly, grinning wildly.

"Toni's sleepin', Francy Pants!"

"Shut _up_! Get off me, you barbarian," Francis glowered, though he was also grinning, something he sometimes tended to do in various inappropriate situations, such as when he's frightened, worried or annoyed. To someone like Gilbert, however, it made him look playful, and like good prey.

A few minutes later Antonio was suddenly awoken by what he thought were the shrill sounds of a shrieking girl being attacked by wild bulls. He jumped up, heart racing, ready to go in for the kill—until he heard, "_Admit_ _defeat_! _Admit_ _defeat_!" And a familiar, shaky, "_Je déclare_ _forfait_!_ Je déclare_ _forfait_!"

He speed-walked out of the room, stumbling a bit, his eyes out of focus, through the very small, dark hallway and into the living area, where laughter, profanity, high-pitched giggles and screams were erupting from the couch. "_Tickle fight_?"

Gilbert stopped his vicious attack and looked at Antonio from the couch, surprised. "Oh, _dieu_ _merci_!" France cried, cheeks flushed and gasping for breath. "I thought I was going to _die_!"

Gilbert snickered and Francis glared at him so icily that he sat back a little, grinning just a tad bit nervously. "What? All in good fun!"

"Awww!" Antonio suddenly whined from the entryway, running over and embracing Gilbert from the shoulders up. "You guys have all the fun without me! I wanna make Francy Pantsy piss his pantsy!" Gilbert guffawed.

Francis opened his mouth angrily—closed it, looking a bit perturbed for a moment—then shook his head and continued with clenched fists, "Ugh! You're _both_ awful to me, just horrible!" Then grappled his legs out from under Gilbert, shakily stood up and scowled all the way to the kitchen.

"Francy Pants!" they both cried, Gilbert moaning and falling over while grasping his chest, Antonio's hand flying over his forehead as he feigned fainting and threw himself over the back of the couch, landing with a thump on Gilbert. They were both quiet for a moment until one of them snorted and they both fell into a fit of rancorous laughter.

"_Mon dieu_, you're both so stupid," Francis bemoaned from his spot in the kitchen, leaning on the counter and clutching his head, although truthfully he was trying to hold back a grin of his own, and failing. "You're like children."

"Only for you!" Gilbert said, shooting up from under his Spaniard friend and pointing directly at him from behind the couch, grinning that stupid smirk of his. Francis sighed. But he felt something.

Although he knew there was an odd trace of truth behind this simple sentiment for Gilbert. Something left unsaid that his tone conveyed. Looking at him, Francis thought, Gilbert absolutely did not act this way around everyone. In some ways, the man was downright antisocial. Sometimes even misanthropic, though they've all had days like that, surely. Where they dispised _everyone_, just for being alive. For everything they do.

Gilbert, however, did this much more often than the others. It was a very, _very_ bad habit that he had only fully succumbed to recently. Not that it was a fair fight.

But not here. This place was safe. Gilbert would not the feel the pain of the alienation, the anger, the sadness, not here, not with them. None of them would. They may have duties as nations, but as long as they were here, together, they could relax and forget, just for a while. This they knew.

"Yo, Francy!"

Francis blinked, realizing he was still standing against the kitchen counter, staring off into space, lost in thought. _What am I doing_?

If misanthropy was Gilbert's vice, Francis's was bitter-sweet sentimentalism. Worse, dear Gilbert and Antonio knew exactly what he was doing. For two people who were once long ago his bitter enemies—or perhaps maybe even partly _because_ of this rather than despite it—they knew him very, very well.

"Wat'cha thinking about?" Antonio playfully inquired, setting his elbows on the back of the couch and putting his chin in his hands. Gil copied his movement beside him, putting on a saccharin smile.

"Nothing," Francis replied, shifting a smile onto his visage and putting his hands up in mock surrender. He sounded rather lethargic and his mood had deflated a bit from just minutes before. Which was a semi-common occurrence for him, at times.

"Didn't look like nothin',"

"Uh-huh," Antonio nodded.

"You can't fool us that easily."

"Oh?" Francis smiled wider and put a finger to his chin in feigned intrigue, tilting his head a bit.

"That's right!"

"Yup!"

Francis laughed and fluidly walked over to them, almost danced, and wrapped his arms around both of their necks in one graceful motion. "That's good!"

"H-hey—! Get your armpits out of my face, Francis, they freakin' _stink_!"

"_What_—?" Francis gasped, jumping away, looking genuinely offended at this attack on his personal hiegene. "Oh—damn it—they do _not_! Can't you just accept a damn hug for once without being an asshole?"

"At least I don't _smell_ like an assho—" Gilbert couldn't finish that before Francis could grimace deeply and smack him upside the head. "Ow—! _Shit_!"

Antonio was trying and failing to hold in bits of laughter. Then he asked seriously, "How do you know what an asshole smells like?" They both looked at him for a moment before his deadpan mask contorted and he burst into laughter at his own joke.

Francis sighed, though Antonio's happy energy was always naturally contagious, so he couldn't help the smile seeping onto his face. Gilbert grinned as well, reached over and pinched Antonio's side, causing him to squeak and his balance to faulter a little. The albino and the blond both laughed at this; Antonio's smile fell and he pouted and glared at them both.

"Not funny, yeah?"

"So you think tickling me and making me 'piss my pantsy' is funny?" Francis asked sardonically, leaning foward.

"Yeah," Antonio and Gilbert both said at the same time. They looked at each other, made a face and started falling into hysterics once again, Francis putting his face in his hands and shaking his head.

"I don't know what to do with you two," Francis sighed, his voice muffled and his face hidden.

"Give us food."

"Love us?"

Francis held up his head, his eyebrows suddenly furrowed. "I will and I do," he said very seriously—causing Gilbert to instantly lay down and groan.

"You don't have to be so _serious about_ it, we were _joking_..."

"It's very serious," Francis said with a nod, almost somberly.

Gilbert immediately rolled off the couch saying, "It's like this with you every day, isn't it? I pray for your freaking neighbors."

At times Gilbert could only handle so much 'sap', as he called it, in one day and it seemed he was reaching his limit. Francis clicked his tongue as he watched his unkempt friend roam over to the fridge and open it, something he did periodically whether there was food or not. "You would be much healthier if you didn't reject intimacy so much, you know?" Francis said as Antonio nodded. Neither had this problem so particularly, at least not as much so as their dear friend.

"So you've said!" Gilbert replied truthfully, his gruff voice flooded with annoyance; yes, this was a semi-common conversation for them. _Not that that's particularly our fault_, Francis thought.

However, they all knew that this was a rather touchy subject for Gilbert, and this was a safe space, so it was never discussed seriously for long, and the subject was soon dropped in favor of discussing when they thought was the proper time they should head to bed. _It's not as if he doesn't hear this every day from other people, anyway_, Francis thought, sympathetically.

"I'm tired," Antonio said, then stretching his arms and yawning. Gilbert rolled his eyes while Francis caught the yawn and stretched as well. It had been a tiring day.

"You've been asleep _all_ day."

"But it's night, now!"

Gilbert leaned forward and put his forhead on the fridge, laughing and mumbling, "Wow. Wow."

Francis set some strands of his hair back behind his ear. "You look tired, too, _mon poulet_." Gilbert mouthed out '_mon_ _poulet_' mockingly whilst making a face. Francis gave him a tight-lipped smile, eyebrow twitching.

"You're always so sassy when you're tired, Gil," Antonio said, making a drowsy noise that was something of a giggle and a chuckle.

"You can be at times, too," Francis said, pointing at the Spaniard, remembering a few rare times when they had woken up the normally vivacious man up in the middle of the night, usually after an evening of heavy drinking, and he had been down-right _pissed_. Even spiteful.

There were other times as well. Contrary to what most people who knew him seemed ro believe, the normally sunny dispositioned Spanish man could be very temperamental. As close friends, Gilbert and Francis saw a lot of this. They knew Antonio didn't like many people seeing his darker side, but when with the two other members of their little trio, it was perfectly okay. They all understood this.

Perhaps they were all quietly thinking about the same thing, or perhaps not, but after a few long moments of silence they all mutely began their treck towards the apartment's bedroom. The last one out, Antonio, flipped off the lights with his palm, scratching his messy auburn head with his other hand.

Minutes later they were all quietly crawling into the large, firm apartment bed.

When sharing a bed, which wasn't a rare occurence for the three, they usually had a certain arrangement.

Antonio was generally always the one in the middle; otherwise he would roll right off the bed in the middle of the night. He would also generally sleep turned towards Francis, because he was a bit of a hugger in his sleep, and suddenly hugging Gilbert in the middle of the night was a bad idea. Francis didn't mind, however.

Gilbert would generally always sleep closest to the exit, for comfort reasons, also because he was usually the first one to rise in the morning, and also the one most likely to get up in the middle of the night. He was also semi-prone to nightmares and sleep paralysis. For this reason, he usually slept on his stomach and never on his back.

Francis usually slept closest to the window if there was one, which he generally didn't mind, if it was a quiet neighborhood. He was a light sleeper, and he also tended to talk in his sleep. What he said was always nearly impossible to make out, and he usually only talked for a few seconds, half a minute at most, and usually only once a night.

They all knew these small, trivial things about one another.

As Antonio and Francis settled in under the blanket comfortably, Gilbert crawled in last and muttered goodnight, to which they both replied "Goodnight," back, and Gilbert grinned softly, reached over to the lamp beside him and touched the top twice, turning it off.

After a few minutes, as the quiet settled in, Francis laying on his side facing the wall, with his head partially buried in his pillow, he looked out the window. The curtain was opened and from his view he could see the small, crescent moon. No stars, the city they stayed in was much too light polluted for that, but the moon was bright and beautiful, even when waning. There were no clouds tonight. He felt the urge, then, to go outside, smell the night air (_Well, very early morning now, actually_, he thought), just to sit out on the porch, but he was so dead tired he could hardly even move. The fatigue weighed in on his body and his brain, making even the thought of getting up tiring. He needed sleep.

Suddenly there was a small whisper and he felt his side being lightly poked. "Hey, Francis."

Francis stayed still for a momemt. Then he slowly turned his body around, trying to stay quiet. He doubted it, but Gilbert could have been asleep by then, and he didn't want to wake him. "You're not sleeping?" He said, blinking at Antonio.

"No," Antonio said.

"I thought you were tired."

"Yeah." There was a pause, and then, "We didn't brush our teeth."

Francis let out a quick breath through his nose, a sort of chuckle. He and Antonio's heads were fairly close and facing one another, so he could smell Antonio's breath fairly easily. "Your breath doesn't smell too bad," he whispered back.

Antonio sniffed. "Yours does."

The tired Frenchman wrinkled his nose. "I was out drinking earlier." In all honesty Francis considered not brushing one's teeth before bed to be particularly gross, and would normally never do such, but he was so exhausted that he was willing to make up excuses for himself. "It's fine. Just this once."

Suddenly there was a groan that at first startled them both. "You guys never shut up..." The bed creaked with movement.

"Sorry," Antonio said, turning his head towards Gilbert, still whispering. "Yeah, whatever," the albino muttered, adjusting himself to where he was on his side facing them, his head propped up with his palm. The soft moonlight coming from the window made him look ghostly in the darkness.

A pregnant pause between them, and then the middle one spoke, "Why are we all awake?"

"Dunno'," Gilbert said, sniffing and and giving something of a shrug.

"We've haven't even been in bed for ten minutes," Francis added. He wasn't quite sure of the time, but that sounded about right.

"True," Gilbert mumbled, scrunching up his nose and adjusting his hand.

"But we're not even tired," Antonio said, staring up in the ceiling. Then his dark eyes widened and he said, "Well, I don't know about _you_ guys, I mean, but..."

"Nah," Gilbert said, with a wave of his hand.

"I am," Francis said, eyes narrowed.

Gilbert sat up a bit, picked up his pillow and threw it at Francis' face. "Are ya' now?" Gilbert smacked out while Francis spluttered.

"Augh—! Ew—your pillow smells _terrible_," Francis said with a twisted, lightly disgusted face, throwing it back.

Antonio picked it up first, then sniffed it. "...Musky." He murmured thoughtfully. Francis made another face.

"Smells _sweaty_, like he used it as a towel after running. Ugh."

"Yeah, yeah, that too."

"Really?" Gilbert questioned, resting on his stomach and taking the pillow, putting it to his nose. After a long intake of air he pulled it away, looked at it, and said, "Hell, it don't smell that bad."

"Oh—of course _you_ can't smell it, it's your... scent. So of course you can't smell it."

Francis wasn't too eloquent without sleep, which they were all well aware, especially Francis, so he made a very ugly face whenever Gilbert grinned a shit-eating smile at him and snickered.

"My _scent_?"

"Y-yes—yes—your damn scent."

"And I can't smell it."

"Yes."

He smiled at Francis, looked at Antonio, back to Francis, and then turned his smirk back to Antonio once again. "Well isn't that something?"

Francis made a loud noise, something between a growl and a groan, crawling under the covers. "I am going to _sleep_, good _night_."

"Wait—! I wanna smell your pillow," Gilbert said, leaning over the Spaniard next to him.

Francis' agitated face popped back out from the blanket, "You are _not_—"

"I wanna smell it, too! And smell mine, Gil," Antonio said while grabbing his pillow, now seemingly fully awake and energetic.

"Alright," the palest of the three said, grabbing his friend's pillow and putting it to his face, smelling it.

"Well?"

"...Smells like... kind've spicey... that's your cologne, right?" Antonio nodded. "Right... a little sweaty... and something deep fried."

"...Like what?"

"...Dunno'."

"..."

Antonio took his pillow, holding it over him and studying it quietly.

"...Cool!"

"Cool?" Francis echoed questioningly, now facing him in a mirrored position of Gilbert.

"How many people do you know that have pillows that smells like something deep fried, eh?"

Francis breathed out through his nose. _Magnificent reasoning_. "Let me smell it, please," he said, with an outreached palm. Francis had a very keen sense of smell.

Antonio handed it to him. He gingerly put the soft fabric to his nose and sniffed.

"...I can definitely smell your cologne," Francis mumbled, nose wrinkled. That was the strongest scent. There was also the light smell of sweat, which was a given. There was also something else, something more akin to food, sweet, and...

Francis grimaced. "They smell like your churros." Francis didn't particularly dislike churros, but being with Antonio as often as he was, he'd eaten the sweet food so many times that just thinking about them could make him ill.

"Ah-ha!" Gilbert snapped with his free hand. "It was on the tip of my freaking tongue."

"Mhm."

"It was!"

Antonio had grabbed the pillow and set it back in it's proper place. "That makes sense, I could have told you that."

They both then looked at Francis, who frowned. "What?"

"It's your turn!"

"Wh—"

"Give me your pillow," Gilbert said, and without waiting for Francis to react, he snatched the pillow from underneath him and the two other men put the soft headrest to their nose and sniffed.

"..."

"Well?" Francis said indignantly, grinning tightly. If they so much as _thought_ the word 'sweaty', well, he was willing to sleep on the couch.

Antonio and Gilbert looked at each other, for a moment their faces unreadable, until their faces slowly warped into wild grins and they burst out laughing horribly, saying, "_Cheese_!"

"_What_?"

It took them a good, long moment to respond as they roared, Francis gritting his teeth as his face became warm all the while, visibly bristling.

"It—it smells like—like _cheese_!" Antonio squawked out between gasps of mirthful howls.

"And—and—" Gilbert sniffed again, shaking, almost able to contain himself, but then squeaked out, "And _wine_!" Which sent them both into another huge spiral of guffaws and giggles, both men nearly crying.

"I—no—oh, it does _not_!" Francis cried, grabbing the pillow and putting it to his face, inhaling deeply. He blinked.

"I, I don't smell any of that!"

"You can't _smell_ yer' own _scent_, Francy Pants!" Gilbert said, finding it hard to breathe. Antonio's sides were on fire and he was clutching his waist, shaking, face red and eyes watery.

They laughed.

And laughed.

And Francis stared at them both, his face stoney and unreadable. After about a minute they finally, slowly began to calm down, and _ever-so_ slowly became increasingly uncomfortable with the way their friend was glaring at them, until they were completely silent and still, looking at one another.

A long, sharp pause.

"...Are you two finished?"

They both nodded. Had they taken this joke too far? Francis looked very unamused.

"...Alright." A sigh. "Anything else?"

"Eh?" Antonio blinked.

"My pillow?" Francis said slowly, tapping said object. "Does it smell like anything else?"

Gilbert blinked rapidly. "Oh." He rubbed the back of his head, then grabbed the pillow and lightly smelled it again. "...Yeah. Like shampoo."

Antonio grabbed it, doing the same. Then he nodded. "Hey, yeah. That smells like your shampoo and conditioner. Really nice."

"...That's all?"

They both blinked blankly in unison. "Yeah."

Francis eyed them for a few terse moments. Then his expression suddenly softened, and he smiled. "Alright. Well, that's not too bad, is it?" Francis still didn't inwardly agree about his pillow smelling like cheese and wine, but was too tired to argue.

"Yeah!" Antonio said, relaxing. He didn't like having his friends mad at him.

Gilbert relaxed visibly as well, leaning back, looking out the window and saying, "Yup, so like cheese, wine, flowers and swea—"

Francis shot out of bed like a rocket, snapping, "_Good_bye," and grabbing his pillow as he marched jaggedly towards the door.

His friends cried after him, Antonio saying, "Wait, no, come back!"

Gilbert had yelled after him at first, but then rolled his eyes and sighed out, "Oh, _Christ_, it's not that big of a deal, ya' big dra—"

"D-don't listen to him, _amigo_!" Antonio said, laughing nervously and elbowing his insensitive friend in the ribs. "He's sorry, he really is—"

"I never said _tha_—" Gilbert's breath was cut off by a hard elbow to the gut. He made a noise that was something of a gasp and a cough.

"He _really_ is, yeah!" Antonio growled, almost glaring at Gilbert; he was still smiling, however. Then he hissed something in Gilberts ear that sounded something like, "Damn, don't be so mean, Gil!"

Francis looked at them, hand on the doorknob, but just sighed and opened the door, ignoring Antonio's quiet, "Francis..." and Gilbert saying something he didn't catch as he closed it behind him.

Francis slowly, tiredly walked foward and flipped a switch on the wall, turning on the small hallway's overhead lightbulb. He turned to another, slimmer door on his left and opened it, revealing a small hall closet where they kept some things, namely blankets. He stopped whenever he remembered that he had left a quilt on the couch earlier. He softly sighed again, closing the door, turning off the light and began shuffling his feet towards the living area

He was now alone with his thoughts.

_Am I being over-dramatic...? _

_It's just a pillow... Meh._

He was too tired to care. With tiredness came irritability, slight melancholy and stubborn bullheadedness, at least for him.

_That bed's a bit cramped, anyway. They're probably thankful for the extra room. I'm going to miss those midnight hugs. _

_I'm not really that angry. I think. _

He wasn't sure. As he sat down on the couch he remembered how Gilbert refused to apologize and even seemed to blame him, and he felt something flare up just a bit. _Idiot_.

_Well, that's Gilbert, for you. _

He was kind of sad, actually, he realized. He wasn't sure really why. It had been a long day, and he was beyond exhausted. He just needed some rest, perhaps, he thought. But his chest just suddenly felt very heavy, he frowned deeply as he layed down.

_It's been a hard week, too... _

May having just ended, there also had been a certain holiday occurring earlier that week in his country as well, a day that always made him feel somewhat lethargic and out of it around that time of the year.

_A very hard week... the week's almost over..._

He suddenly fully realized that tomorrow he would have to go back to work, and he was going to spend the last night of his weekend alone on the couch, for the first time in _years_ sleeping without his best friends. Their innumerous strings of weekends slept together was going to end. That thought alone held such cold loneliness that he felt his heart compress.

_Dear god, please don't tell me you're actually going to cry_, he thought to himself as he felt a lump rise in his throat and his eyebrows started twitching, his eyes becoming watery. He'd hardly cried in years, except for a few rare occasions! He was then smiling very bitterly, and told himself that if he was going to start full-on sobbing, he might as well leave. He was planning to do so if that were the case.

There was the sound of a door clicking open and lightly padding feet, which for a long, self-absorbed moment he didn't notice, until he heard a familiar voice say, "Francis?" And the hallway light-switch was flipped on, softly illuminating the living area.

He looked up to see two disheveled, seemingly-young men standing uncomfortably on the edge of the living area, eyeing him warily.

Francis made a noise of acknowledgement. His throat felt rather clogged at that moment and he didn't trust his voice not to crack. Could they see his wet eyes? He hoped not. He didn't want them to think he was falling apart over something so trivial as being called smelly, he really wasn't.

Antonio turned to Gilbert and nudged him with his finger. Gilbert made a very odd, very awkward face, coughed, and said genuinely, "We're sorry."

Francis felt his face scrunching up and grimace on it's own, his cheeks becoming warm and twitching, his eyes watering horribly, and he couldn't say anything, so he extended out his hands in an inviting manner, and held it in as much as he could until he was held by his two favorite people on earth, to which he accidentally let out a gasp and the tears escaped from there.

For the next few minutes Antonio held Francis and rubbed his arm, back and shoulder soothingly, murmuring calming things, whilst Gilbert sat on the other side of him, holding has hand, staring at the ground and saying nothing.

What was worse was that the fact that they were being so incredibly kind and that he was embarrassing himself like this was making him cry even more.

Gilbert would look up at him worriedly every so often, never being good with comforting other individuals or handling other people's emotions being thrown at him, especially so suddenly. However, the fact that he was sitting there, holding his hand and rubbing his callous thumb across his skin was very, Francis was at a loss for words, _powerful_. It meant a lot.

Antonio seemed to be radiating calmness and strength from his body with every soft word and gentle touch, keeping him upright, his warmth seeping through Francis' clothes to his skin and even deeper.

Thinking of these things made the sadness in his heart slowly ebb away, the compression in his chest unwind and the lump in his throat disappear. As the bad feelings faded, something that made him feel very light took their place.

It was very quiet, for a long while.

"...Are you alright?" Antonio finally spoke, his voice still soft and soothing, but tense.

Francis, however elated he then felt, still felt very humiliated at having such a sudden emotional breakdown in front of his closest friends, his usually _somewhat_ composed, elegant façade broken. This was a bit _too_ open, even for an open individual such as himself.

So he found it a bit hard to look at either of them, at that moment, or even look up, and he was smiling very tersely. "Y-yes, yes, I am. I'm fine."

"Are—are you sure?" Antonio looked very skeptical at this, but he let go somewhat.

He paused, sniffed, and then his smile eased. He said softly, looking at his friend. "...Yes."

"Oh..." Antonio blinked. "...Oh!" He let go completely, smiling. "Oh, great, great," he let out a sigh of relief. "Thank god, I was—ah, yeah, anyway..."

Gilbert seemed to relax as well, though not completely. Francis imagined he wouldn't completely relax from that sudden storm of emotions for a while. It usually took him some time to fully recover from these things. Though he did let out a sigh and pat his hand, smiling just a fraction of a bit behind his serious face. He suddenly looked quite a bit like his younger brother, Francis thought. _Or did Ludwig get this look from him? _

"I'm alright, really," Francis said, glancing at them both. But he didn't want to leave it at that, so he continued, "I-I just, I mean—I wasn't crying because of what happened earlier, you know?" Gilbert nodded, and he felt a light breeze of relief in his chest, and said, "I just—it's been a very long week, and I just, I guess, I just felt—I just felt a little... lonely. It all just came rushing together, I think. So..." he let his voice trail off, looking at his hand, unable to think of anything else to say.

"I get it," Antonio said quietly, giving his friend's shoulder a reasurring squeeze. "It's been a shitty week, yeah?"

Francis nodded, and he felt Gilbert squeeze his hand. Gilbert was being uncharacteristically quiet. The blond suddenly felt guilty. He looked at his then-stoic friend and tried to convey an honest apology through as much expression as he could. Gilbert looked away, but from his softened face and a quick nod, Francis knew he understood. He let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

Antonio grabbed his hand, then, and they all sat their quietly for a few minutes, each grasping one another's palms, intertwined and joined together.

_Why had I been crying? I can't even recall_. Francis chuckled at this thought. He was right then at the happiest he had been all week, maybe even all month, or more.

However, he was also dead tired—a large yawn escaped his lips, then, and Antonio laughed lightly.

"Will you come back to bed with us?" The Spaniard asked, looking at him.

Francis grinned widely, pulling his hair back from his face. "You needn't ever ask me such a question twice, my dear."

Even Gilbert laughed at that; he was the first to stand. "Need help?"

Francis blinked and tried to stand, but realized that for whatever reason his legs felt like dead-weight and were as shaky as leaves. "Yes."

Antonio stood as well and they both grasped his hands and pulled, helping him to his feet. For a moment his heart started pounding like a drum and his vision became very black and spotty, he nearly fell over.

"T-too fast, too fast."

"Sorr—sorry."

After a few moments of leaning on Antonio, he stood up straight and nodded. "Alright, I'm fine. _Mon dieu_, we all need rest, I think."

"Damn right," Gilbert muttered, grabbing Francis' arm and guiding him along.

Antonio was the last one out, once again, and as they shuffled towards the bedroom, he turned around, said to the empty room, "Good night," and flipped off the lights.

Francis and Gilbert smiled.

* * *

**A/N: Aaaaaaalright! That was my first EVER completed fanfic, actually ever, at least I'm pretty sure. I decided to go with something easy and Hetalia is what I know best, and the BTT are easily my favorite characters—not only that, but what's more basic than writing the BTT trio being best buddies together? My grandmother could do it, probably. **

**After writing this I suddenly feel like I neglected Spain a lot. Forgive me, Toni! I think I do this with Spain a lot in general, I don't have a very complete hold on his personality yet. **

**Some important things I'd like to say are: first, the reason they're all calling each other by their respective human names isn't because this is an AU, but I just have a personal headcanon that countries who ****are close to each other call each other by their human names in informal situations. Sorry if that wasn't clear. **

**Secondly, when I started writing this, I honestly had no idea where I was going with it, I just wanted to write something, so if it seems rather unorganized and/or spontaneous, it completely is (just like everything else in my life). **

**Also notice that there are no pairings in this—honestly, reading back over this, there isn't much in terms of 'plot'. It's more like an excerpt from half a day in the life of the BTT, mostly from France's POV. (Though I do think POV is something I seriously need to work on, sigh.) **

**Anyway, even though I usually actually pair up the entire BTT as a polyamorous trio, or at least my mono OTP is FraPru/PruFra (whatever the heck it's called), I decided on no pairings in this fic. I wanted something simple about strong friendships and maybe get a feel for some of the characters. **

**I have a lot of headcanons for these three, so I took a lot of liberties in this fic. Unfortunately, some of these headcanons outright conflict with actual canon. For example, notice how it's implied that France is speaking English? It's actually canon that France refuses to even _learn_ English, because of pride. So that's kind've... meh. I decided, 'Okay, maybe he eventually caved in and learned American English?' and just went along with that.**

**I'm so terribly, awfully sorry for the various random bits of foreign languages everywhere, I usually wouldn't do that, but I think I made France speak a lot of French to compensate for the English thing. It really came out of nowhere, even for me. (If I made any mistakes I am so sorry.) **

**The ending is really weak for me, along with other things, so I'm not happy with that, however I was worried that it was going to just go on forever and ever, and I wanted to just end it where it was. So blame me for that. However, I feel like this whole thing could have been much worse in terms of consistency and clarity, so I'm actually happy with it over all. **

**Anyway! I typed this all on my touch phone, I'm thinking I might be missing some mistakes, please forgive me for the smaller ones, such as spelling. **

**However, remember, I'm a writing noobie—critiques and advice are very welcome! Especially about grammar and overall style, I'm seriously trying to learn. **

**Thank you for reading this needlessly huge author's note if you did, and even if you didn't, thank you anyway! See y'all. **

**- SL0B.**


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